


Stardust & Sunlight

by adaughterofeve



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Marriage Proposal, honeymoon au, the rebelcaptain network valentine's exchange, train of thought from Jyn's perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaughterofeve/pseuds/adaughterofeve
Summary: Jyn's sleepy train of thought as she wakes in Cassian's arms on their honeymoon, having left their long recoveries on Yavin 4 behind.Also known as, AU where not everything is garbage and my loves live and heal.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holysansa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holysansa/gifts).



At first it seemed as if the murmur of waves had roused Jyn to consciousness. A hush and retreat, gentle whoosh, whispered rush. The bubble and mumble of water rolling over smooth sand.

Waves.

Her breath bolted and her heart raced as she gasped suddenly, opening her eyes to bright, but not painful, light. She glanced frantically around for a moment, panic and remembered pain clouding her gaze, until finally in a rush she remembered where she was. The linen sheets had shaped gentle but coarse patterns into the still-healing flesh of her right arm where it had been pressed beneath her as she lay sleeping. A playful breeze danced through the opened window and brushed gently against her cheek, as if in a soft caress of apology. The morning’s new sunlight speckled and dappled its way through the trees of the surrounding gardens. No, not waves. Just the wind in the trees.

With her panic subsiding, Jyn turned her face towards the head of the bed where Cassian lay, still asleep amid rumpled sheets, still holding Jyn in the crook of his arm. His hair was mussed and falling across his brow, but his face finally held some peace and the shadows beneath his eyes were lessening. Jyn searched his face hungrily, holding tightly to those signs of improvement and memorizing the sharp planes and angles of his face like she had done so many nights in the medical bay.

She’d spent every night slipping from her own medical quarters, barefoot on the cold sterile floor with medical units and monitors trailing her like small creatures leashed to her wrists, to curl up tightly in a chair by his bedside. She inevitably fell asleep there, cramped in an uncomfortable ball, but with Cassian’s face as the last thing she saw. The doctors had protested at first, citing her own unhealed injuries, but they did so weakly and had quickly bowed to her wishes and moved her own bed into the corner of his room where she could still see him. They’d all spoken in hushed and reverent tones around her, as they did with Cassian. The two survivors of a rogue mission. The ones who brought hope. The ones who saved us all.

It had been barely a week out of Scarif when Jyn had seen warning lights flashing through the base, refracting dizzyingly through a bleary haze of painkillers and the foggy walls of the bacta tank. Though her mind was sluggish, she could see the frantic movements of physicians and attendants in the medical ward as hurried evacuations were planned. Voices over the loudspeaker were muffled indistinguishably through the tank and the drugs, but Jyn could still sense the urgency and fear. The Empire had found Yavin 4. She’d closed her eyes and willed herself back into blackness.

When she had opened her eyes again she found Mon Mothma standing composedly at the end of her bed, smiling down at her, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

_ It’s gone? _ Jyn had asked raggedly, burned vocal chords still healing. She’d glanced over to Cassian’s bed to see him huddled over a report with his face buried in his hands.

Mon Mothma had nodded.  _ It’s done. _

Jyn had rolled to her side and shut her eyes against tears of relief and untended grief.

She could see the panic and the restless sorrow flickering in Cassian’s gaze in those medical quarters, ever increasing as reports of the casualties fallen in the final battle against the Death Star had found their way into his hands. Those hands, though badly burned and likely as tender as the stretched and healing burns on her own skin, had never stopped moving. Even when the rest of him seemed swallowed in exhaustion, sunk low into the bed and eyes wide and far away, his fingers had moved restlessly with some object Jyn couldn’t see. Working it, turning it, memorizing it with his fingers.

She’d tried to find words for him, but she didn’t have any herself.

The deference shown them had been wearying. Every time a well-wisher from the rebellion or a physician would offer heartfelt thanks or just a wordless gaze of admiration and awe, she’d felt it as a weight, as a guilt, as a sharp reminder of everyone they had lost. Her responses were wooden, broken, like something in her had lost the ability to conceive time. There wasn’t going to be a tomorrow; there wasn’t supposed to be a now. She would turn to the door and all her soldiers, all her friends, all her family would be there. But they weren’t. It had just been a steady stream of apologies and reverent thanks. She’d wanted to scream,  _ I didn’t do it for you! _ until her voice broke and her lips bled, but she’d known it wasn’t true anymore. Somewhere along the way she had offered herself, her life, and the ones she loved for them. For the rebellion.

She’d begun to prefer the attendance of the medical droids, but she could tell that didn’t make it any easier for Cassian. His eyes had followed each and every one around the room as if searching for some semblance of the soul that had formed in K2. 

When Cassian and Jyn finally could get up and move around the base again, she’d taken to trailing him silently through the corridors like a shadow. From time to time he would stop, hand reaching out to nothing as if it might offer some stability and grounding, and she would be there to take his hand and hold him together. She’d press her forehead against his shoulder as his breathing smoothed and make believe she was an unmovable force. A mountain. An ancient tree like which she could find some strength to draw from the earth and hold them both together. He’d press a desperate kiss to her forehead, hand tightly wound in her hair, and not release her hand for some time.

Two days after being granted release from the medical quarters, Cassian had confronted Mon Mothma with a quiet Jyn in tow.

_ You’ve paid the price for the Rebellion far more than any of us had ever dared ask,  _ she’d responded calmly, surveying them both and noting, Jyn was sure, the bald brokenness that was etched in both of their faces.  _ You’ve offered us that which we had never dared hope for. This victory was not possible without you. Tomorrow there will be more of us; others will rise up. While you are invaluable assets, we can ask no more of you than what you’ve already given. _

Cassian had paused, expression thoughtful.  _ I have something else to ask of you, then. _

Mon Mothma’s eyes had flickered across the packs on both Jyn and Cassian’s shoulders, across their clasped hands and intertwined fingers. A soft, sad smile had settled across her face.  _ No one expected you would linger. Go. Find peace.   _

Jyn had murmured her thanks and nodded deferentially before turning to go, hand still tightly wrapped in Cassian’s.

_ Jyn, Cassian,  _ Mon Mothma had called after them. They turned, only a few steps down the dim corridor. She smiled again, lit somewhat divinely by the ambient light cast by the holomonitors.  _ May the Force be with you. _

They’d chosen one of the old cargo shuttles that awaited general maintenance, half-forgotten in the recent chaos at Jedha and Scarif and the even more recent victory against the Empire. It had been overlooked in the preparations for evacuation of the rebel base to a new location  hidden from knowledge of the Empire. No one had paid the two of them any notice; every back bent and brow dripped with sweat to ready the relocation. 

As Cassian methodically ran a preliminary check over the flight systems, Jyn had tucked away their packs, filled with squirrelled-away supplies and foodstuffs. With her necklace hanging round her neck and Cassian’s leather jacket draped around her shoulders, they’d carried with them their only remaining possessions in this, or any, world. The blasters strapped to her thigh and his waist had been collected without discussion, but Cassian’s sniper rifle remained behind. Jyn had entered the cockpit as Cassian booted up the systems and donned a headset. He’d handed the copilot’s headset to Jyn and his hand lingered for a moment, squeezing her wrist with a soft smile. She’d smiled in return and the skin stretching across her face had felt like ice cracking in long jagged lines at the beginning of a thaw. She thought she felt a similar feeling somewhere in her chest. 

As she slipped the headset over her ears and fire-shortened hair, a voice had crackled in her ear.

_ This cargo ship does not have clearance to depart. Who authorized this? What’s your call sign? Report. _

Cassian had glanced to her and she’d clicked on her microphone with her thumb.  _ Base tower, this is Rogue One.  _ Her voice then cracked. Cassian reached over for her hand and grasped it firmly. Jyn had stared at the intermixing play of scars across their skin, listening to the abyss of silence on the other end of the radio.

_ Rogue One…  _ The voice had trailed off then, as if suddenly comprehending. There was a moment of silence, and then the voice spoke again, somewhat rougher, as if shrugging off unwanted tears.  _ You are cleared to depart. May the Force be with you. _

Jyn had settled back in the copilot’s seat as Cassian engaged the engines and smoothly pulled away from the tarmac of the base. She’d settled in and watched the green of Yavin 4 diminish and gradually pull away from the window, listening to the soft tinkle of metal parts and fragments of the demolished Death Star as they fell against the roof of the cargo ship like rain. It had almost sounded like the spring storms back home. Almost.

She’d dozed off at some point in the roughened leather of that copilot seat, still-healing body exhausted from emotion and effort. Cassian’s jacket had been wrapped around her like armor, and she’d tucked her knees up to her chest to curl into the smallest space possible. Cassian had caught her eye as she lifted her head to look around.

_ We’re almost there,  _ Cassian murmured. She hadn’t asked where they were going. She hadn’t really cared. She’d blinked heavily against the flow of recycled air and watched the passing lights shift across the planes of his face, creating fleeting areas of light and shadow. He had been watching her, too. Their gazes, though intimate, were comfortable. At times, it had been the only contact they had been able to share across the space between their medical beds. Clasping shaking hands. Soothing with steady embraces. A cool touch to a burning forehead to ward off fevers and evil dreams.

But they had not kissed. Not in that elevator, not on that beach.

Cassian had reached out a steady hand and brushed away the hair that had fallen in her face during sleep. It had been shorn almost ruthlessly short during recovery after the flames had done its damage. He’d feathered his thumb across her cheek, an odd sensation of smooth skin and rough scars. He’d tugged on the collar of the leather jacket and teased softly,  _ you know at some point I may want that jacket back. _

Jyn had smiled, the muscles pulling a little across her face.  _ Never. Consider it confiscated. _

The hand at her collar had smoothed out the fabric, making unnecessary adjustments to reset it in place.  _ You should probably keep it. It looks better on you.  _ His eyes were dark, yet had glinted brightly from the passing streams of light. His subtle smile had pierced; she’d felt a tremor from the base of her spine. She’d offered in return her wickedest smile and the resulting laughter had been worth it to hear from his lips, rough and broken though it was. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him laugh before. She’d wanted to celebrate it. Protect it. Bottle it up for herself. She’d leaned forward and pressed a hand against his unmarred cheek, brushing the skin there with her thumb.  _ Do that again,  _ she’d implored in a whisper.

He’d smiled. Half confusion, half curiosity.  _ Do what again? _

She’d smiled more earnestly then.  _ Laugh. _

The resulting affectionate chuckle had rumbled from his chest like shifting rocks in a riverbed.

She’d pressed her lips to his in response with no small amount of force.

A moment later, was it only a moment? Cassian had pulled away, his face filled with wonder -- the same wonder he’d shown on Jedha. On Scarif. On Eadu and on Yavin 4. The wonder he had been showing her since the first day he’d met her. He’d released one hand from the nape of her neck, untangling from her hair and fumbling for something in his shirt pocket.

He’d extended a hand out to her and she’d peered into it. Within his scar-callused hands rested two rings: one roughly chipped out of a piece of dark gray stone with a center that could only have been bored out by a laser, and the other a smaller, more delicate circle of warm, honey-colored wood.

Her breath had caught in her chest for a moment at his wordless question, but after a moment, she’d nodded. His expression… relief? As if he too needed the tie that would hold them together when tomorrow and the next day and the next roared and swelled and crashed around them? That perhaps he too felt a rush of panic when she was out of sight – the one thing, the one person who understood that each breath was weighted and pained, that each light was hellfire, that every sudden noise was an unseen danger? Maybe he too felt the desperation to hold her hand in his, to feel that it was real, that he was real, and that they had made it? 

Maybe he too felt that their lives had always been on an unshakable path to bring them here, broken and together and home?

Yes, that was relief; he’d chuckled nervously with a half-smile that coaxed out one of her own. He’d taken her hand then, their scars intermingling, and placed into her palm the wooden ring. She imagined now the hours he had worked on them, restlessly turning them in his hands as he’d healed. The wood had been warm in her touch, as if he’d always kept it close enough to absorb some of his heat. Without placing the ring on her finger, she’d known then that it was cleverly carved to just her size. She’d smiled again and closed her palm around it.

Now in the morning light she traced her thumb against the grain of the ring, feeling the press of the wood against her skin and the way it fit perfectly there, rough scars and all. She hadn’t worn it until the haphazard exchange of vows, choosing instead to keep it tucked in a chest pocket, pressed against her rib cage where she could feel it constantly. A soft weight. Their vows, an unpracticed storm of honesty.

_ I have very little left in this universe,  _ he’d said,  _ but I have you. And you are and always will be enough. I have already been with you through death. I want to be by your side in life, too. _

_ I was nothing, no one, and you found me,  _ she’d said,  _ and when I was alone you brought me home. You are my home and always will be.  _

Home… Jyn thought, burrowing in closer against Cassian to feel the reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek. Home used to mean the gentle hum of a generator kept running by curses and coaxing, the reedy sound of the wind through the tall grasses, the unkempt and desperate strength of her father as he bent over papers when he thought she slept, and the soft grace and selfish bravery that had been her mother. 

For a long while home had been the feeling of longing for what she had lost. It had been an empty chasm within her that she nursed with bitterness and defended ferally. It had been alone, hungry, hunted, and bone-deep tired.

But now her home was Cassian.

Home was the way his arms tightened reflexively around her in his sleep. The way the rain caused his hair to gather into strands which fell in his face and the irritation with which he would brush them away. It was the urgency with which he murmured her name and the soft words he spoke to soothe her when she felt lost. It was the melodic rhythms of his native language when he hummed to himself. It was the loyalty he showed his friends and the calluses formed from weapons and war and the never ending work for revenge and redemption. A flicker of a candle on a dark night. A breath of wind in a room devoid of air. 

They’d fallen into a hapless tangle of discarded clothing and budding promises. Her kisses were apologies that she pressed to the flame-touched portions of his skin; his were adorations that he offered to the breath in her lungs. Prayers for the iron of the blood in her veins. Worship for the tenuous stretch of new muscle and skin and fevered recitations for the curve of her bones. His reverence for her was for the entirety of her being. With his affections, he rejoiced in her continued existence. 

In return she’d delighted at the press of his lips at the hollow of her throat and had counted her fingers down his ribs, hands splayed wide against his sides. She’d memorized the marbled texture of scars, old and new, and pressed her palms flat against them as if to act as another protective layer of skin. The linen sheets had become a net around them, intertwining them, holding them together. 

And in that moment, that one breathless moment, there had been no flames. No Scarif, no Eadu. There had been no loneliness, no emptiness, no pain. Just the two of them. Alive. Breathing. As one. 

Cassian stirred as a gust of wind rattled the open window and ruffled his hair. He blinked drowsily as his eyes adjusted to the light and Jyn smiled at the encompassing press of his arm around her shoulders. She burrowed closer into the sleepy warmth of his chest and whispered softly, “Welcome home.”

She could feel the pull of his cheek against the top of her head as he smiled in return and held her a little tighter against him. His sleep-muddled voice murmured in return a groggy, “Good morning, sunshine,” as he pressed a kiss against her hair. 

This was home. This was hope. They’d get through the rest together. 

**Author's Note:**

> for tumblr user jynofstardust who is a beautiful, intelligent, and wonderful human being <3


End file.
